“You were there, were you?” He laughed a little impatiently. Her mother had died when she was thirteen, her two much older sisters had married off—one submissively, one insubordinately; her two brothers had gone out into the world well ahead of her, and so she had made what she could of her father. But he dismissed that because then she would ask her lover and not him all these things. After all, she found herself reflecting, behind her aunt’s complacent visage there was a past as lurid as any one’s—not, of course, her aunt’s own personal past, which was apparently just that curate and almost incredibly jejune, but an ancestral past with all sorts of scandalous things in it: fire and slaughterings, exogamy, marriage by capture, corroborees, cannibalism! Ancestresses with perhaps dim anticipatory likenesses to her aunt, their hair less neatly done, no doubt, their manners and gestures as yet undisciplined, but still ancestresses in the direct line, must have danced through a brief and stirring life in the woady buff. A hand of iron fell upon the scowling young man’s shoulder. It simply doesn’t count. " "But you will,—won't you?" she rejoined, looking him coaxingly in the face. "He's here. Then a hansom drove up, and his heart gave a great leap. And by degrees, perhaps, that maiden distrust of yours that makes you shrink from my kisses, will vanish. ” She laid her fingers for a moment upon his arm. " "And I will, if I can, depend upon it," answered Sheppard, with a laugh.
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